


a soul to rely on

by sky_blue_hightops



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon), Tangled (2010)
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, F/M, Families of Choice, Fever, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Older Sibling Rapunzel (Disney), Post-Canon, Rapunzel and Varian are Siblings (Disney), Sickfic, Snow, Team Awesome (Disney: Tangled), it's me what were you expecting sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25174948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_blue_hightops/pseuds/sky_blue_hightops
Summary: This is definitely, positively, absolutelyjusta cold, Varian thinks to himself right before he sneezes so hard his goggles go flying.
Relationships: Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider & Rapunzel & Varian, Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider & Varian, Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider/Rapunzel, Rapunzel & Varian (Disney), Ruddiger & Varian (Disney)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 190





	a soul to rely on

_This is definitely, positively, absolutely_ just _a cold_ , Varian thinks to himself right before he sneezes so hard his goggles go flying.

He takes a second to blink through the ache that blooms across his cheeks, before running a hand through his hair and finding it damp enough with sweat to explain why he’d lost his goggles so easily. Then he notices his gloves are gone. And his apron. When had he taken those off?

When it got so _stiflingly hot_ in his lab, probably. He aims a frustrated kick at the table leg, almost energetic enough to feel a pulse of alarm at how his beakers shudder and clink together, at how the neon solutions inside bubble a little higher. Maybe he could kick it all hard enough to get it to _work_ , for once, damnit, but his toe hurts and he crosses his arms childishly. He almost just sits down right there on the floor (in a respectable, defiant act of protest, he insists, and _not_ because of how his head spins and the world dips around him when he moves) but that inopportune moment is also the exact same one Rapunzel chooses to slam his lab door open. “Varian!”

She must feel generous today, because she doesn’t even poke fun at his surprised shriek, just lights up and opens her arms for Ruddiger’s greeting, already talking a mile a minute about her latest idea. The little raccoon is enthusiastic with his chirps and cuddles as she spins Varian a web of concepts and details and all the little bits of creativity that make her such a good partner to brainstorm with, and the smile across the princess’s face is familiar enough to help calm the racing of Varian’s heart. Because he was surprised. _Not_ because of how light his head feels. His bare hand finds the edge of the table, and he’s sure if he could bring himself to look down at it, his knuckles would be white. “Hey, Rapunzel,” he greets when she finally pauses for breath, but his voice comes out all wrong and raspy and like it’s a million miles away. Concern flashes across her face - _ugh, great_ \- and even Ruddiger has the gall to chitter worriedly.

“Are...you okay?” Her eyes are wide and curious. It’s the kind of look filled with Big Sister Caring he’s been subjected to countless times before, but while in the past he’d scoff and insist he’s fine, now it just makes him want to curl close to her and admit just how bad he feels. Comfort while sick ( _rest_ while sick) is just something he’d never done before, despite his dad’s best efforts - he’s good at hiding it, and maybe he shouldn’t take pride in that, but what _ever_ he gets to keep working no matter what and that is all that’s ever mattered to him.

(That, and his own refusal to look weak in front of his dad. His refusal to take his problems to others when he could just solve them himself. His refusal to _trust_.)

(But, he thinks, he’d shown weakness in front of Raps before. They’d shared their fears, hanging together, the world alight with red. He’d done it before. Maybe...maybe he could allow himself this one time. Just this _once_.)

But he hesitates just a moment too long, and instinctually squeaks out a lie. “...Yeah, I’m fine!” _Curse_ his bad habit. Rapunzel definitely notices, aw, shoot, because she squints even harder in his direction. He covers by gesturing wildly towards his experiment. _Don’t make eye contact with the overprotective, overconcerned princess. Don’t make eye contact, you idiot, you opened this can of worms, Varian, and now you gotta lie in it._ “Anyways, I finished this round of solutions last night but I’ve spent today adjusting their acidity - maybe we can test them tomorrow, if Ruddiger doesn’t knock over my stands _again_ -”

The raccoon in question chirps indignantly and poofs out his tail. Varian rolls his eyes and holds out his hands, and his little buddy doesn’t hesitate to make the leap. The brief moment of humor is perfect to dispel some of Rapunzel’s visible uncertainty, and she grins. “I know _just_ the place for that - do you remember what I said about some of the old castle meeting rooms?”

When Varian returns the mischievous grin, it’s with all his teeth. “Why, yes, dear princess, I think I do.”

* * *

It’s a few days after her quality time with Varian that she feels some of the worry his appearance had sparked rise up again. “Hey, Eugene?” Her voice is casual as she swings lightly from one of the many hammocks she’d strung around her room, brown hair tucked carefully back with a paintbrush behind her ear. Eugene looks up from where he’d been hunched over another section of her wall, near the floor, and there’s bright blue paint dotting the tip of his nose. It’s adorable. It’s also in his hair (and she can see the fuss about _that_ he’ll raise later) and across his knuckles, and she feels a flash of fondness in her chest for this beautiful man who’d taken to indulging in one of her hobbies with her just so they could spend a lazy afternoon together. “Oh, wait, you’ve got a little something-” She rubs at her nose. He copies the motion, going cross-eyed for a second, and only succeeds in smearing the paint across the tops of his cheeks. Dork. 

“Did I get it?” She’d never admit it, but his pout is much more effective than his smoulder. Rapunzel snorts and swings down from her cradle of fabric, stepping closer on quiet feet and reaching up to rub at his face. “Also, what’s up?”

“Got it,” she confirms, before tucking herself under his arm. Her paintbrush doesn’t touch his clothes and she carefully places it aside (undoubtedly the tragedy of stained hair _and_ clothes would just be Too Much for him, and she suppresses a giggle). She hums thoughtfully, before wiggling so she can see Eugene’s eyes. “D’you think Varian’s okay?” And when she sees Eugene’s brow crinkle a little, she knows she’s onto something. “I’ve barely seen him the past few days, and when I went to check on him he seemed...quieter. Ruddiger even looked worried, and Ruddiger only looks worried about either Varian or apples, and I just thought-”

Eugene’s hand cups the back of her neck. It’s remarkable how well he knows her, how easily he knows how to provide comfort even in the small moments, and she lets his presence soothe some of her stress. “You know that kid, sunshine. He emerges every week or two like a- a bat, or a vampire, or something - really, it’s a little suspicious, if werewolves exist I frankly would _not_ be surprised if vampires were real-” The flat look on her face ends his tangent, and he sighs. “You’re worried about the weather, aren’t you.”

“The advisors say it’s going to be bad, again, and I just. I can’t help but think of _then_ and he probably can’t either but every time I want to bring it up I just… _can’t_.” She huffs frustratedly, and his fingers brush gently through the shorter hairs at the base of her head. 

His voice is softer when he responds. “If you’re really worried, we can bring Quirin and him to the castle for the storm. Just in case. I know their house doesn’t have as much protection from the cold.” _And has a basement full of bad memories_ , he doesn’t say. 

“Yeah... yeah, okay. Thank you,” she smiles, and it only grows wider when she reaches up to kiss him and feels his own smile.

The knock on her door that interrupts the rest of their kissing is _extremely_ unwelcome. They both grumble and help each other to their feet before she ~~stomps~~ firmly crosses over to the door and swings it open wildly. Nigel cowers before her, and she allows herself a moment of satisfaction before relaxing her posture. “Yes, Nigel, what is it?”

“The storm, Your Royal Highness. It’s gotten much worse very quickly!” His hands flutter nervously in the air between them. A sinking feeling presses on her lungs, and she meets Eugene’s eyes. _Varian._ Her little brother in all but blood. Eugene meets her eyes back, and reads the desperation in them. She wants to go and find Varian herself, she does, but she must protect her people - and this is the same difficult choice that nearly destroyed them all those few years ago, and something painful rises in her throat.

“I’ll go get him, Blondie, won’t even be gone a few hours. You hold down the fort, okay? Trust me.” She almost lets that something painful spill out, from gratitude and relief and worry, but keeps her tongue. This is Eugene - of course he would know what to do in the moments when she can barely think.

It’s so obvious she feels silly saying it out loud, but - “I always trust you.” He cracks a goofy grin, before pressing a kiss to her forehead and already turning towards the corner of the room he’d chucked his boots in a few hours ago. “Be careful-!” She calls after him as she’s dragged away by Nigel, and then the door shuts, and then she pushes away all her worry and trains her focus on Nigel’s briefing and on keeping as many of her subjects as secure and sheltered as needed.

* * *

His mind is, probably, a little bit scrambled.

He’s only really aware of the wind biting at his cheeks. It’s so nice against the flush across them he seriously considers stopping for a second to enjoy it, but Ruddiger is frantic and bushy around his neck, and he faintly realizes maybe _he_ might need the cold right now but his friend does _not_. “Sorry, buddy,” he soothes, but Ruddiger refuses to settle. “Do you want in my coat?”

If the question is understood, it isn’t answered. Grey fur presses closer around Varian’s hair and ears, and it takes a few long seconds of his mind slugging through lines of thought to understand that- that Ruddiger is trying to shelter Varian from the wind as well as he can. Varian giggles unsteadily, numb fingers coming up to pat his friend’s head. “I’m fine, bud, _you_ need to stay warm, okay? We won’t be gone long, I just need to run this stuff up to the castle before tomorrow’s tests and then maybe we can hit up the kitchens for cocoa.” He pitches his voice softer and lighter. “How does that sound, Ruddiger. Does that sound good?”

It, unsurprisingly, does not sound satisfactory, based on the whine in Ruddiger’s chirps. There’s not much he can do about that, regardless, so he just does his best to flip his collar up around the raccoon and presses onwards. He swore he’d set everything up right, he doesn’t want to ruin this! It’d been so long since he’d had a breakthrough _this_ promising, and who is he to turn down Rapunzel’s help with his kooky idea? _Finally, someone else to be responsible for any explosions,_ he thinks jokingly, and pushes harder on his wheelbarrow.

The wind shifts colder. It’s not dark or snowy, or really even that dangerous, not yet, but the circumstances dredge up old memories that, between the sensation of winter around him and the feeling of fire in his head and chest, are startlingly clear. He remembers dashed hopes and hot tears and then - blinks away real ones, involuntary from the lashing of the wind (they are only from the wind _they are they are_ ). Ruddiger is suddenly an immense comfort. The path is so long before him, and the axis on his wheelbarrow rattles unsteadily.

“We’re almost there, okay?” He keeps up a stream of statements for both of their benefits, and feels so small under the weight of the upcoming storm. “Just a few more minutes.”

And then, because his mind is scrambled, he backtracks his thoughts for a second. He’s out here to organize materials at the castle, yeah, he’s been over that. Raps and him had agreed on tomorrow for the Official Testing and Finalization of Their Combined Awesome Idea. And then a storm had started to roll in, and he’d wanted to get this stuff over early. Just in case. And he _still_ feels barreled over by this cold ( _just_ a cold, he helpfully reminds himself) and now...a tiny lightbulb goes off in the back of his head. Now all of this is beginning to...maybe look like a bad idea. Maybe even a really bad idea! He’s not used to seeing bad ideas in advance - does this count as in advance, if he’s already out here shivering in the cold? Who knows. Is time even real anymore? He almost wants to giggle deliriously at the sarcasm, and decides, _who knows_.

A rock catches his boot and he goes sprawling on the cold, hard dirt road.

The wheelbarrow turns over, he notices first, and the _devastated_ feeling in his chest almost brings tears he can’t blame on the wind. Neon and glass and metal all go flying in several directions, and then he brains himself against the ground and tastes iron on his lips, and _oh no, Ruddiger-_

When he blinks awake, snow has begun to fall.

There’s a loud ringing in his ears he’s pretty sure is only half wild-and-worried Ruddiger chittering. He spits out a leaf and pushes up with his arms and his vision goes spotty again -

There’s more dirt in his mouth. He blinks his eyes rapidly for the second time in as many minutes (he _thinks_ it’s been two minutes, but the darkness lapping at the edges of his awareness doesn’t tick at the same rate as the waking world), and shivers as a wave of the coldest cold he’s ever felt washes over him. No longer does he feel sheltered from the wind in his coat, but he pats at his chest, and yep, his coat is still buttoned in place. He paws at his mouth, and feels the motion against his face but doesn’t feel the fingers that conduct it. The ringing subsides, deferring to the howling of the wind, and the headache he’d been ignoring rears up to replace it. He almost starts crying, right then and there, and chokes it back.

It takes two tries before he can flip himself over with his shaky arms. The world tilts and spins, made worse by the dizzying fall of white flakes above him, and he groans. Yeah. This was probably a bad idea. And...he’s so, so loathe to admit it, but this probably isn’t just a cold.

He resists the urge to just keep laying here. Despite the unyielding surface of dirt below him, he feels like he could melt directly into the earth. In the corner of his vision, the lone wheel still spins up in the air, upset from the fall. The sky grows darker. The wind grows harsher.

Sitting up is hard, even if he _wasn’t_ about to lose the absolute nothing he had for breakfast and lunch. His arms still shake under him, but he maybe thinks the world might be slowing around him. Which could be either a very good sign or a very bad one, depending on how you look at it, except all he can see is the dark horizon in the distance and white and neon staining the ground and- 

Oh _no_. Ruddiger.

He whips his head around frantically, which is a _supremely_ horrible idea, but can’t spot any flashes of grey or black or white fur anywhere, and can’t stagger to his legs to go any further than the path he’d collapsed on. “Ruddiger!” he screams, voice torn into the wind and whipped away. “Please, buddy! _Ruddiger!_ ”

He’s alone.

He’s alone and his head is pounding so hard any movement makes him see stars and he’s so _cold_ and he’s alone he’s alone he’s _alone-_ Ruddiger could be _hurt-_

A burst of adrenaline. He stands up, falters a step, and goes crashing right back down into the dirt, and doesn’t blink awake a third time.

* * *

Eugene had expected a longer walk than just a couple hundred feet out from the castle, if he was being honest.

A ball of grey and black weaves through his ankles between one step and the last and he _almost_ loses his balance, but instead hops awkwardly for a few paces before letting the nervous raccoon clamber up his legs and arms. He, by all means, can’t hope to understand some of these animals like their best friends do, but there’s enough fur on end and bristling around his whole head to clue him into the general tone of the situation. “Where is he, lil’ guy?”

Loud chittering. Paws pulling at his ears and nose, bright eyes inches from his own. Ruddiger leaps and flops into the thin dusting of snow at Eugene’s feet, and goes _running_ as fast as his stubby legs can take him. “Alright, okay, woah-”

Thankfully the raccoon’s tail is distinctive enough in the low light to let Eugene catch up to him, because _wow,_ okay, raccoons are fast, or at least this one is, and Eugene jogs along behind him. Something’s definitely wrong if Ruddiger is on his own and this close to the castle, nonetheless. Raps hadn’t been expecting the young alchemist until tomorrow (and there’d been humor dancing in her eyes when she’d told him, so Eugene had known to prepare himself for a day of explosions and herding away advisors - the things one must do for fiancées and little brothers, he supposes), so there’s no reason for either Varian or Ruddiger to be this far out from Old Corona. Also, given the storm. _Especially_ given the storm.

But Ruddiger keeps up the pace, and Eugene has no choice but to follow - and picture any manner of things that could separate the raccoon from his boy like this. None of them look good, so he shakes them away. Doesn’t help to think about the _what ifs_ , he firmly reminds himself. He’ll know what he’s dealing with soon enough.

And soon is an understatement, when just moments from then Ruddiger comes screeching (literally) to a halt by an overturned wheelbarrow. The snow around glows faintly from chemicals and specks of broken glass, and he lets Ruddiger up onto his shoulders again so the nervous animal doesn’t step on anything dangerous. He doesn’t notice the limp form, at first - the coat and hair are just as dark as the ground below - but then it shivers, stirs, and doesn’t rouse. “...Varian?” He offers quietly. 

No response.

“...hey, kid?” He ignores the crunch of glass under his boots, dropping carefully to his knees beside Varian. “Wakey, wakey, goggles. We’ve gotta get you back to the castle before this weather gets worse. It’s too far to go back home and, frankly, I think Blondie and I would like to see you safe here in the storm.” But he’s talking to himself. Varian’s eyes remain closed, snow gathered on his eyelashes. Eugene bites at his glove and tears it off, the cold shocking for a moment, before brushing away at the snow on Varian’s face.

And his skin is on _fire_ . “Damn, kid,” he mutters, and palms Varian’s forehead. Yeah, that’s one hell of a fever, alright. He has the terrifying thought that maybe being passed out in a snowstorm is what kept it from getting even _worse_ , and reaches out to gather the boy into his arms.

Had Varian been so out of it he’d mixed the days up and decided to make the trek on his own? It was likely, which also meant that Quirin was probably out of his mind with worry - which couldn’t be helped, because as much as Eugene wishes he could relay a message to Varian’s father about all this, the snow is thickening by the second and riding out into the worsening conditions is stupid even for Eugene. He grumbles and cradles Varian against his chest - and _oh_ , he’s very light, barely anything in his arms, even when Ruddiger hops from Eugene’s shoulders to curl up under Varian’s chin. “Hold on,” he says, and Ruddiger chirps back with a finality Eugene fully understands. _I’m not leaving him_. Loyal as ever.

The walk back to the castle is short, yet stressful. Varian shakes against him, face flushed, and Eugene holds him tighter. This wasn’t because of the storm - there’s no way an illness like this had sprung up that quickly - and he recalls Rapunzel’s concern. “ _He seemed...quieter_ ,” she had said to him. She’d been right. Of _course_ she’d been right.

He doesn’t stop feeling every bit of his own worry for the kid until the warm light from the castle windows washes over him.

* * *

Rapunzel’s just wrapping up the official care plans for the castle and city’s inhabitants when Eugene finds her. He looks subdued in a way that means _something’s wrong, not an emergency, not yet, but wrong nonetheless_ and she doesn’t force it out of him. He finds his words a moment later. 

“I found Varian. He’s sick, probably has been since you visited him, and in the infirmary.” He sees the instant flash of alarm, and holds her arms. “He’ll be okay, he just needs rest. He’s okay, Blondie.” 

“Let’s go see him? I’m done here,” she explains, and he takes her hand with a nod. His is still a little cold from the chill of being outside, and she holds it in both of hers. He kisses the side of her head with a smile and falls into step with her, and it feels a little easier to breathe.

The walk over to that side of the castle is, thankfully, short. No advisors stop them, all out busy executing her plans, and she permits herself that rush of satisfaction. _He’s okay_ . _Corona is safe_. Maybe this time, she can have both.

The white sheets of the bed he’s asleep in make him appear far smaller than he is, like something far more vulnerable and fragile than the resilient boy she’s come to adopt as one of her own. As they draw closer it’s easier to make out the way he shifts in bed, brow furrowed, hands gripping the fabric tucked around him. A chair beside him has his bag and coat draped over the back, and Ruddiger stirs angrily from his spot on that seat.

“He can’t stay cuddled up with Varian, too much fur, too warm,” Eugene explains, with almost a hint of humor. She breathes a quiet laugh, and opens her arms for the raccoon as has become the usual practice. He loves the shoulders of people he trusts, they’ve all learned, and it’s a sweet reflection of the trust they’ve regained from Varian over the past year or so. Of the trust he’s earned back in return. Ruddiger hums and tucks his small head against where her jaw meets her ear, and she feels his breath on her neck.

She takes the raccoon’s spot in the chair, hands finding Varian’s and easing the white-knuckled grip. His fingers grasp firmly at hers instead, but less desperate and just a simple latching on, as if he knows it’s her, here, now. He’s not alone anymore. Eugene perches on the end of the bed, given more than enough room to sit what with Varian being so short compared to the bed’s frame. “Doctor said it’s something in his chest, cooked up some bad-smelling meds and told me to keep an eye on him overnight while she helps stabilize some patients in the town proper. But, and I’m just wildly guessing here, you-”

“Want to stay too, of course,” she finishes. No one will ever know her as well as Eugene, she thinks with a rush of that wild, awe-inspiring love she gets struck with sometimes, like - how could what they share be _hers_ ? How did they build this and keep it and hold it close? And she remembers everything they’ve been through together and how well they fit against each other and thinks, _how could we not?_

For a few minutes, the only sound in the world is the wind outside the windows and Ruddiger’s purr against her collarbone. Then Varian sneezes twice in rapid succession, and blinks open hazy blue eyes. He makes a vaguely questioning noise, voice rough and disoriented, and she pulls the chair closer and squeezes his hand. “It’s okay, Varian, you’re in the castle.” He maybe half-processes this, before his free hand comes feeling clumsily up at his neck and he jolts slightly with alarm. “Shh, I have Ruddiger with me - see, he’s right here-”

Ruddiger whines and wraps tighter around Rapunzel’s neck, letting his tail flop easily into Varian’s reach. She brings his hand up and lets him brush against the black and white fur, before the boy relaxes back against the pillow. “What...happened?” His voice is small in the silence. Uncertain. 

“Eugene found you,” she says quietly in return. The confusion doesn’t fade from his brow. 

“I- I was bringing something?” Wandering eyes lock onto hers, focused but not clear, and his words are firm. “I wanted to...prepare? Or fix something, and then- and then, Ruddiger-”

“Is fine, bud,” Eugene interjects. “It couldn’t wait for after the storm?”

Varian instantly looks towards the window, wary. “The storm? Oh, yeah.” The storm. It puts him on edge, even with Rapunzel’s hands warm around his. “Uh. No?” The couple shares a look over his head, something both fond and worried and enough to make him feel _smaller_ in his bed. “I had to. Uh. Bring some stuff, I think, for tomorrow?”

His head hurts too much to remember all the details, and he’s probably minutes from falling asleep again, but he wants so badly to stay up and not be alone and not be left here to sit in the wide-open, cold, empty air of the room. It’s so dark, without any lanterns or alchemy to light up the furthest corners, and he can only see at all because of the fireplace several beds away. He’s so cold. Why can’t he lay closer to the fire?

Rapunzel’s hand tightens around his. “You worried us,” she near-whispers, and the guilt that brings is involuntary. She looks like she has more to say, probably a _lot_ more and maybe even a fun lecture somewhere in there, but Eugene interrupts again.

“Kid, why didn’t you tell us you’re sick? Take a break from all that work? Alchemy can wait for you to take a nap every once in a while, y’know.”

“I-” The words stick in his throat, and a wave of pure fear rises in his lungs. It’s the kind of fear that speaking unspoken thoughts brings. But...maybe he could allow himself this one time. Just this _once_ . “I just...didn’t want to say anything, or look weak, I’m _sorry_ -”

“You’re not weak, Varian,” Raps murmurs. She’s moved closer as they’ve talked, as if by being closer she can reassure both herself and him. Her voice is soft in his ears, like her hands now cupping his face, gentle against his cheeks. The touch sparks something so warm in his chest he almost pulls away, overwhelmed, but she merely kisses his forehead and removes her hands to brush back his bangs. The worried look in her eyes only brings comfort, and she looks calmer. Lecture about his bad self-preservation habits scheduled for the future; undoubtedly, some time when he is awake enough to remember everything she has to say. But for now: “you need to sleep, okay? We’ll be here when you wake up.” 

And maybe once, a long time ago, the unsaid _I promise_ that hangs in the air between them would make him bristle with anger, or put him on the defensive. But now, seeing her love and knowing her protectiveness lets him relax, and he falls asleep to the motion of her fingers still trailing warmth in his hair.

**Author's Note:**

> i crammed this whole series in like a few days and then stewed in my thoughts for a while and yelled with wren and now here we are! i've succumbed to writing for it. i definitely DON'T have a favorite. thanks and good night


End file.
